


Higher Than I

by Goda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Religion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 21:49:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2166390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goda/pseuds/Goda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploration of Mycroft Holmes and his relationship with that which he cannot see.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>He let out a soft breath. “Then I would pity this world. I believe in something higher than I for my own protection. There has to be something greater, more powerful, or else this is all meaningless.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Higher Than I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Marta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marta/gifts).



> For [marta-bee](http://marta-bee.tumblr.com) for the Mystrade Summer Exchange.
> 
> Thank you again for your prompt and your patience, darling! I hope you enjoy this.
> 
> Check me out on tumblr [here.](http://godaof221b.tumblr.com)

The weariness of the day hung about Greg Lestrade like a cloak, weighing down his shoulders as he drove through the London streets. For a moment, he contemplated just heading home and hiding his foul mood behind a couple of beers and whatever sport match was on the telly. Still, there was a reason that Mycroft had given him a key, right? And it wasn’t fair of him to hide this part of himself every time. Days got long, and if they were to work up to living together like the younger man had suggested, he needed to allow him to see this side of Greg.

A mild sigh escaped him as he made the turn that would take him to Mycroft’s house and away from his own tiny flat. If he was honest with himself, he preferred the feeling of the house over the bare walls of his own home. It had never really felt like a home, despite how long he had lived there. Decorating had been his ex-wife’s thing, not his, and he really couldn’t be arsed to do it himself. It felt too much like admitting that he was alone, and he wasn’t anymore.

That brought a smile to his face as he considered it. Mycroft had been interested for quite some time, or so the civil servant had admitted to his boyfriend. However, he had waited until a few months after the divorce before he requested a dinner. After a few false starts, they had begun a rather unique courtship. Nearly a year had passed since that first dinner. As he parked the car in front of the house, Greg made a mental note to get some feelers out for what his significant other might enjoy for their anniversary.

He still couldn’t get over the giddy feeling that always filled his chest when he put the key into the lock. Greg headed inside and hung his coat on the rack near the door, toed his shoes off next to where Mycroft had left his own. Good, his boyfriend was home. The detective made his way through the house, looking for the government man. There was a time when he simply would have shouted and waited for an answer, but it gave him an excuse to poke around, get familiar with things, and discover new delights.

Today, he was not disappointed on that end. When he opened the door to Mycroft’s study, he found something he never would have expected. In front of what Greg had thought was simply a sideboard, Mycroft knelt on a soft cushion, his head bowed. The sideboard was opened, displaying what looked like… Greg squinted just a little from the doorway, keeping it half closed. Was that an alter?

“Come in, Gregory. I’ll only be a moment more.” The cop startled at the sound of his lover’s voice, but sheepishly entered the room and took a seat. He kept his eyes focused on a painting hung in the room rather than on Mycroft; it felt too intimate to watch him while he did whatever it was.

After just a few short moments, there was a sigh, then the sound of candles being extinguished before Mycroft came to Greg. Leaning in, the younger man pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “I suppose you’d like for me to explain?”

Greg tilted his head back in order to look up at Mycroft, a soft smile on his face. “Religion’s personal,” he said quietly. “I mean, if pressed, I’d say I was Church of England, but that’s because that’s all I know. I figure if there’s a god out there, then he would have shown himself to me at some point while cleaning up all the dirty work of the world.”

A small chuckle escaped Mycroft before he took Greg’s hand and led him up out of the chair and over to where the side board was still open, smoke drifting lazily from the extinguished candles. “It is personal, yes. But this part of who I am is the sort of part that should be shared with those with whom you intend to spend the rest of your life.”

His heart skipped a beat when he heard that, but Greg kept quiet, kneeling down next to Mycroft. It felt like a store of religion iconography had simply thrown its leftovers in a grab bag and that’s what his boyfriend had put up, but he was sure that there was something that made sense in all of the randomness. He took in the crucifix, the image of a saint, a Buddha, a couple of what looked like Hindu gods- at least the one with the elephant head seemed that way- and even a little statue that seemed rather Egyptian.

“I would have thought an educated man like you wouldn’t believe in a god,” Greg found himself saying before he really thought it through. A small scowl appeared on his face when he realized just how insulting that could be, though his expression smoothed out when he heard Mycroft chuckle.

“It is exactly for that reason that I have chosen to believe in a higher power. In my youth, I constantly told Sherlock that the universe is rarely so lazy to create coincidences. Likewise, I believe that there is a power above us.” He sat back on his heels and gestured to the alter. “I find that having the icons that essentially describe my personal faith allow me to focus my… call it contemplation or meditation.”

Greg turned these words over in his head, considering them. “So you’re not really… Catholic or Christian or Muslim or any of the usual, are you?” It was hard enough getting all of the usual religions straight, but he could see at least three different representations in front of him.

“No. Organized religion in my mind tends to take away the ability of one’s self to form their own opinions, turning beliefs into cookie cutter handouts rather than something one has really worked to discover. In addition, I never could quite find something that demonstrated just what I believe.” Blue eyes turned to look at the detective. “Ah. You’re wondering why I would believe in a power other than myself.”

Startled, Greg opened his mouth to protest, but found the words not there. A sigh escaped instead as he nodded. “Yeah, all right. I mean, your bother has made no bones about thinking that faith and religion is a crutch for weak minds, as he likes to call it. Why don’t you?”

Mycroft settled back on his heels, his eyes going back to where incense still slowly burned. “You know what I do,” he said softly. “It’s quite possible that I am the most powerful man in England.” It was strange the way he said it, as if it was just a fact, with no passion or arrogance. “As a result, I hold a great deal of power over several other countries. If there were a god on Earth, then I’d probably be somewhat close to it. And if I were one of the gods, or the only god available to this world…” He let out a soft breath. “Then I would pity this world. I believe in something higher than I for my own protection. There has to be something greater, more powerful, or else this is all meaningless.”

It was at once the most arrogant and the most humble thing that Greg had heard anyone say, let alone Mycroft. In a sudden urge to comfort in this moment, he settled a hand on his lover’s lower back, just a reassurance in the soft weight. “All right, then. So you believe in a god. Who are these guys, then?”

The younger man smiled softly. “I went seeking faith in my youth,” he admitted. “When I was on my own, in university. As I came to realize that the recognized religions around me would not suit my own beliefs, I took from them piecemeal; it is unlikely that they were completely wrong, after all. I believe in a multifaceted higher power, one with many faces to him. I have since chosen representations of what those manifestations would look like in my own life.”

He gestured to each of the icons in front of them as he named them. “The most obvious would be the Buddha and Jesus Christ. Both had a great deal of teachings that I hold dear to me. Saint Peter, the one who betrayed, yet became the foundation of the modern church. From Hindu mythology, the faces of Shiva, Vishnu, Parvati, and Ganesha; that particular faith has quite a few more options for the face of God. I worship with prayer and meditation, as well as incense. I know these things are more for me than for any possible deity, but I still offer them.”

“Hm.” Greg considered this, knowing that understanding Mycroft just became that much more complicated. He’d have to see about doing some research himself. It wasn’t as simple as just showing up at church on a Sunday here and there, that was for certain. But that made it more Mycroft in the end, didn’t it? He noted that the incense was barely half finished burning. “Well, looks like your offering’s got a while longer. I interrupted you, didn’t I?” The detective offered his hand without getting off his gently protesting knees. “How about I join you, then?”

The smile he was treated to was one of the most brilliant that Greg had seen on Mycroft’s face. His hand reached out and joined Greg’s, lacing their fingers together. “I’d like that very much,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. They both turned to face the small alter, their eyes closing in unison as they offered their time and prayers to a higher power.


End file.
